


Witcher Tumblr Ficlets and Drabbles

by DovaBunny



Series: Geraskier Fics [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Disability, Geraskier, Jaskier Whump, M/M, No Major Character Death, Secret Identity, Torture, collection of tumblr ficlets, favs sometimes written as assholes just for plot don't hate me, more like whumpskier, yenkier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:15:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26970499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DovaBunny/pseuds/DovaBunny
Summary: A collection of Tumblr Ficlets, a bit of everything. I'm always open to prompts and if anything catches your eye let me know and I might expand it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772185
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	1. Witcher Bitcher Bard, Ao3 Fic Writer and lover of Witchers

“They don’t exist.”

Jaskier swears his soul leaves his body for a second as he yelps with a start at the unexpected voice grumbling over his shoulder. On pure impulse, he slaps his laptop closed, sending a prayer out to the gods of Google Docs and Archive of our Own that it saved recently, and slumped into the comfy armchair of the bustling coffee shop that smelled of desperation and success. (But judging by the two other writers in the corner each on their fourth double expresso, the raven-haired beauty flirting with the barista without shame, and the dude crying while clinging to a clear disinterested girl’s hand it also smelled of heroics and heartbreak).

He turns to the offender seated in his own armchair just over his shoulder and… wow.  _ No, no thinking with your dick.  _ He clears his throat, his voice innocent, “whaaaat don’t exist?”

“The creatures in your story.” At Jaskier’s raised eyebrow the man rolls his eye and grunts. “Omegas, alphas...Witcher ‘knots’.”

Jaskier doesn’t think his face had ever lit up so fast and so furiously in his life before. I’m just saying, you could light a match against his flaming red cheeks right now. Had the creep really been reading over his shoulder?!

“And- and how would you know, huh?” Jaskier retorted, desperate to claw back at least a shred of dignity through confrontation. Witchers are basically creatures of legend, so few left that they have essentially turned into a conspiracy theory-fuelled secret society that works in the shadows.

But the stranger didn’t seem impressed with his haughty tone, instead just raising an eyebrow of his own on his otherwise  _ sinfully  _ handsome but expressionless face. He wore a deliciously tight grey shirt that hugged his chest under a black leather jacket that should make him look like an asshole but made him look like a damn husband-shaped fantasy. White hair was up in a ponytail and shaved at the sides.

That was when Jaskier stopped drowning in those golden amber eyes and really ‘looked’. His own eyes narrowing in disbelief before going wide as his breath hitched. 

“I know who you are,” he said softly as if his realisation was about to amaze and impress the stranger. “Big ol’ loner, sitting in the most corner seat available, cat eyes, white hair, suspicious long and narrow duffle bag I’d wager holds two very scary swords…”

The man kept his deadpanned eyes on Jaskier as he threw his black coffee back in one go like it wasn’t scolding, then reached for his bag, clearly getting ready to leave. 

Let it never be said Jaskier wasn’t a man of opportunity. 

“You’re a Witcher,” he said eagerly as he rose to his feet with the man, his eyes positively sparkling. “You’re Geralt of Rivia.”

Yellow eyes flashed in agitation then darted around suspiciously. It took a moment to realise Geralt was trying to make sure no one else heard him. He visibly relaxed when no one seemed to have been paying attention, all eyes glued to their phones and mouths glued to their pumpkin-spiced double-whipped what-evers.

Geralt gave a grunt Jaskier couldn’t decipher if his life depended on it and shouldered his bag, turning towards the door. 

“W-wait!” Jaskier almost ran after him before remembering his precious laptop and darling guitar. He rushed to pack up then darted out, using his long legs and sharp elbows to basically slither his way through the bodies before bursting out the doors, his head whipping around before he spotted black leather, white hair, and a black duffle bag. 

“Wait!” he called out again, clutching his laptop bag to his chest and guitar case strap over his shoulder as his legs carried him the last few steps till he stopped in front of the confused and somewhat irritated looking Witcher. And by holy fuckest of fucks and actual Witcher.

“Why.” Geralt responded, not a question. 

“You cant seriously expect me, after meeting the most incredible person I’ll ever meet, to just let you leave? Let me buy you lunch! Oh bollocks, its 4pm… ok dinner! Early dinner. If you’re on a mission or something and don’t want to go out I- I can cook! Or maybe just let me buy you a drink?”

Jaskier knows he’ll be screaming into his pillow at 2:30 am for the rest of his life when he remembers this embarrassing display of desperate grovelling. Right now, however, he couldn’t bring himself to care - not even if there is even the slightest chance Geralt might agree. 

He kept the full force of his doe eyes trained on the stoic Witcher till he let out a short huff Jaskier swore was his version of a laugh, the hard lines between his eyebrows easing. 

“Sorry to disappoint, but I have to meet someone. But who knows… you might hear from me again… ‘Witcher Bitcher Bard’.”

Jaskier felt his heart jump into his throat at Geralt saying his Ao3 username out loud. He had just uploaded his latest chapter when the gruff voice over his shoulder startled him. 

“I’m curious to see for how long the handsome, disciplined ‘alpha’ Witcher will be able to resist the beautiful, cheeky ‘omega’ bard, what with his ‘heat’ coming up.”

Geralt gives him a wink and a smirk in the face of Jaskier’s stunned silence, before sauntering off. 

It’s only once Geralt is on the otherside of the street that Jaskier’s tiny rat brain catches up to what just happened. He grins so wide his cheeks hurt as he yanks out his phone to turn on email notifications for comments on his fic: ‘Resistance is futil my darling Witcher’.


	2. When Jaskier Died but Julian Lived

Post Mountain ™ Jaskier is captured and tortured to tell the Nilgardians where the Witcher fortress is, knowing that is where Geralt will take Ciri. Jaskier tells them nothing.

Months later Lambert is travelling home for the Winter when he stops dead at a familiar scent. He cant place it but his instincts tells him this is familiar - ‘protect it’ familiar. He follows it to the remains of a very recent Nilfgaard camp. The fire pits are still embers. He follows it still and comes across a body with shackled to a heavy stake in the cold hard ground. The body is not moving, naked and caked in blood and dirt, but his hearts pick up a faint heartbeat. The scent is familiar, but here is oddly not a hint of fear there despite clearly having been a prisoner, tortured, and dying.

He rushes to free the man. Dirty long hair and a rough beard hides his face. He tries to ask the man who he is but there is no response. He bundles him up with every blanket and coat he has, not caring of getting of getting it dirty because he smells familiar! 'Protect’ familiar.

He pushes his horse, Scorpion, hard to the next village and rushes to get the man into a warm bath. He asks for soup and their room to have extra furs. The innkeeper is used to people cold, injured, and on deaths door so he quickly complies. It takes two buckets of hot water to wash the stranger off enough before he can be put in the tub.

Lambert has seen some shit in his day. But this goes to the top of the list. The stranger is almost beyond starved, his body and his badly-healed wounds speak of torture over a long period of time and constantly. He has scars across half his face to rival Eskel’s, his burn marks. His finger were broken and healed wrong, and his skin has scars old and new, some by fire, some by knife, some by whip.

With more care he thought he possessed Lambet washes the man and takes inventory of all this. A regular blast of igni keeps the water warm as he washes the stranger with gentle hands and a soft rag. He uses his sharpest dagger to cut the matted clumps of hair and beard away, revealing a face he could imagine was handsome at a time.

Between the innkeeper and himself he manages to get the strange clean, warm, and carefully fed with warm broth. Lambert tends to the remains wounds as best he can, but he knows he will need Vesemir’s skill and potions to do more. So he lets the stranger sleep for two whole days till he is forced to push on to avoid the snow. The man is still unconscious, but his heartbeat is a little more steady and he isnt deathly cold to the touch anymore. A fighter.

  
“VESEMIR! I NEED A HAND!” Lambert’s voice echoed through the old fortress’ courtyard. Both Vesemir and Eskel come running. Both react protective at the scent of the man. Neither know who he is.

He man comes to for brief moments when Lambert is holding him down and Vesemir has to break and reset bones, when potions burn like acid to clean infected wounds, and when warm broth is carefully poured down his throat. Through all this, however, Eskel remains near but keeps his distance. Those scars… the man’s face… he knows the life this stranger will have once he wakes.

Which he does soon after. He looks with almost vacant eyes at them, not a note of fear as the three big Witchers over him. They almost thought him mute till he mutters a guttural thanks when Lambert tells him everything, not comfortable with he silence in the room.

Eskel stays near but far.

The stranger doesn’t answer questions, only speaks in single words when needed. Sleeps, or stares our rhe window when they moved his bed closer.

The stranger had been there for two weeks when Geralt arrived with Ciri and Yennefer in tow.

Two weeks till they learned the identity of the man.

Yennefer asked to read the near mute bard’s mind. She looked horrified. When she told them what she saw, so were they.

Vesemir declared that Jaskier now had a home at Kaer Morhen for protecting them. That they would care for the silent scarred man who used to sing their praises.

Jaskier speaks, croaks, and tells him he is not Jaskier. Not anymore. He is Julian.

Geralt avoids Jaskier, or Julian, like the plague, his face crumbling in guilt when he sees him. Yennefer is clearly uncomfortable around him, not knowing how to act and haunted by what she saw. Ciri is scared of him.

Still, Eskel stays close. Because he knows. He wont give up on Jaskier. 


	3. Jaskier the ASMR Fan

Jaskier had an ASMR channel that was his absolute addiction!

Which is funny because he is pretty sure the guy didn’t intend for it to be an ASMR channel.

You never saw the guy’s face, only his hands as he cooked or baked, his occasional low rough voice giving a comment or instruction over chopping and mixing frying. It was mesmerising watching his hands work, listening to his rough velvety voice and _hmmm’_ s and nothing soothed Jaskier’s heart and soul as much as watching it. He looked forward to his 35min subway rides so he could pop in his headphones and watch the man work.

His friends teased him relentlessly for his stupid crush on a guy is who more of an enigma than a man. But there was just something about his voice, how it calmed his anxieties, and those hands that looked so strong but worked so gently… so he took the teasing in his stride.

It was a crazy, stressful day for poor ol’ Jaskier. His alarm didn’t go off because his battery died, so he couldn’t watch his videos on his rushed way to work just to be yelled at for being late, and to top it off theres a cheerleading convention in town so the coffee shop is packed with loud preppy blond girls (the type who laughed at him in high school) who just want skinny pumpkin spiced lattes.

In his rush this morning he forgot his meds and he could feel his nerves fraying, his breathing and pulse just a little too fast and his mind just a little rushed to focus on single tasks.

Loud preppy blonde girls dont take pity on tired pathetic baristas who accidentally added whip to their skinny pumpkin spiced lattes.

“I’m here to drink alone.”

In a single instant the voice caught him, crystal clear, over the busy coffee shop. He wasn’t sure why, it felt so familiar… He looked up to see three very pretty, very insistent girls flirting with a (wow) tall man who just walked in, asking him to join them. They called out to him again, one trying to touch his arm but he ignored them flat out and approached the counter.

“You okay?” It was only then that Jaskier realised he was staring, trying to place this handsome stranger. Again the voice was so familiar…

“Er, yeah. Sorry. What can I get you?”

“Coffee. Black. With whip.”

Jaskier’s mind was no help. _‘Well now. I wouldn’t mind if the man in the black shirt whipped me either….Stfu brain. God I need to get laid.’_

He turned to hide his red cheeks and fixed the coffee, being a little more generous with the whip than he usually is.

“That’ll be 2.75, please.”

The man saw the extra whip and smirked, giving him a low grunt.

A grunt he knew.

A voice he had fallen asleep to many, many nights.

His eyes went wide and shot down to the guy’s hands.

He knew those hands.

Holy shit.

“Holy shit.”

Fuck that was out loud!


	4. Not Your Average Omega, eh Witcher?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is BAMF and an omega. If omegaverse isn't your thing give this one a skip

Geralt has come across many monsters in his long life. But the worst of them - was men.

Like this man.

A mother approached him in tears, giving him all her jewelry and begging him to find her daughter. When she presented as an omega her husband just saw gold sold her to an omega trader. The trader buys and sells omegas as they have become such a rare group.

Geralt turned down her payment. He would do this for free. Happily.

He followed leads of this disgusting monster till he found their camp just outside Oxenfurt. The camp was heavily guarded by armed dwarves. It would take too long to fight his way in, by which time the alarm would be raised and the girls smuggled out or worse. He would need fight from the inside out.

He grit his teeth and sheathed his swords, approaching the camp.

“Master Witcher,” one guard said, nervous. “Afraid this here isn’t a place for walk-ins.”

“I’m here to-” Geralt hated this “peruse your boss’s goods. Heard about his trade.”

The guards turned to each other and frowned, oddly gripping their weapons tighter.

“Very well…” the one at the entrance said. “Follow me.”

He didn’t know what he had expected. Maybe lavish tents that looked like a brothel? But there was no strong scent of sex or alcohol or fear. Instead there were a line of smaller tents, all closed, with soft calm voices inside.

He was lead to the one in the middle. “Boss? Got a Witcher here to see you. To ‘see the goods’.” The guard announced as they stepped inside, his tone oddly angry.

A man stood from a desk. Again Geralt didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. A young man, mid 20s maybe, with kind blue eyes that turned hard when he heard the guard.

Geralt knew he had a strong alpha scent. It was intimidating, and almost all of the omegas he had met was cowed by it. Betas were weary of him, and other alphas often saw his presence as a challenge.

He stepped forward and Geralt nearly stepped back as he fully realised who- or rather what - this man was as his heightened Witcher senses took him in.

An omega. Male omega. Incredibly rare and rumoured to be worth a small fortune amongst nobility. Not mated - but not pure. There on his neck - where a mating mark should be is a clear rectangular scar. The mark had been purposefully burned out. Geralt know very few people would be able to withstand such pain.

“You- you’re an omega.” He said dumbly.

The man paused, then glared, clearly not a wit scared of the alpha Witcher. “And? That a problem?” He cut him off before he could answer. “Not that it matters. I’m afraid I cant let you leave alive. You see - my reputation is carefully designed and needs to stay that way.” He draws a wicked dagger from his side and Geralt heards all the guards have surrounded the tent.

“You… you don’t really trade omegas do you?” At the man’s stormy expression Geralt had his answer. In a quick movement he pulled both his swords and dropped them. “Then I mean you no harm. I came here to hunt a monster. Seems there is none.”

It took a few moments of careful assessment before the man put away his own weapon. “You are half right. I inherited a large fortune which I use to buy omegas from those who would sell them to anyone. I bring them here, to Oxenfurt, where they will be safe and taught to defend themselves. I have a mage who can give them herbs to hide their identity, or even change it if they so wish. Most importantly - I give them the choice.”

Geralt studied him again. Young but tired, omega but strong, unmated but impure.

“Because you had no choice.” He said. Not a question.

The man’s eyes flashed. “Astute. Seems the rumours of Witcher intuition and senses are true.” He kicked his swords back towards him.

Mind made up Geralt picked up his swords again.

“Call me Geralt.” He held out his hand.

“…Jaskier.” They shook.

“Well then Jaskier. Any way a Witcher can help you?”


	5. Alternative Geraskier Meet-Cute : the Oxenfurt Student

  
Shani and Essi were falling over themselves laughing at his misfortune. He had already lost every coin he had, his grandmother’s pearl ring, his famed collection of dwarvern erotica, his shoes, and his doublet. Fucking GWENT!

His heartless friends and classmates marvelling at their new winnings.

But rent was due next week. If Jaskier could just win *one* game! But he literally only had his lute, chemise, socks, and pants left. He will die before betting his lute and if he gets more naked they’ll all be kicked out.

…but… there is only more thing of value he can wager…

With a smirk Jaskier grabs a page from Essi’s notebook and a piece of charcoal to scribble on it ignoring her objection.

“Ok. Final game. All or nothing. If I win, the loser ensure get back everything stolen from me by my wretched heartless friends.”

“And I you lose? What can you possibly have let to wager?” Ebert asks.

Jaskier smirks and winks then drops the piece of paper with a ‘V’ on it.

“I bet my v-card. Which, contrary to popular belief - has not yet been collected.”

Wide eyes of disbelief and mischief had barely spread amongst the group when a heavy coin purse dropped onto the piece of paper.

A stranger, no - loner, cat eyes, two swords - a Witcher dropped down in front of him.

“Heard you played Gwent?”


	6. The boy in the woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A half-assed drabble that wouldn't leave me. Take it its yours now.

Yennefer finding a young boy, still basically a toddler, crying alone in the woods.

Her heart goes out to abandoned kids, unwanted kids. Always has. So she slowly approaches him and talks softly.

Something about his bright blue eyes, red and heavy with tears, and that windswept mop of brown hair stirs a memory.

After some coaxing with food and promises not to hurt him the boy allows her to get closer. She sits next to him as he wolfs down the dried fruit and bread. He asks who is she.

“I’m Yennefer.”

“Yennf-, Yenno-… Yen?”

“You can call me Yen if you like.”

He smiles. All toothy and trusting. “Thank you for the food Yen. I was super hungry!”

“You’re welcome,” she smiles back as he picks at the crumb on his shirt. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Julian!”

…anyway. Yennefer finding a little Julian who had been cursed after The Mountain. Life took Jaskier off his hands by essentially turning him back into a child.

Yennefer being nr.1 best mom vibes melting for the bright eyed boy who loves and trusts her so easy and hides behind her from anyone else.

Little Julian asking her why she looks sad sometimes and if it is because she is lonely? But that when he is big he is going to marry her and become a knight and protect her so she will never be lonely!

Yen suspects this is Jaskier, but she cannot know for certain. Her magic doesnt pick up anything, but there is a tinge of something unnatural. She also doesnt know what to do with a young boy who has latched onto her. Not that she’s worried having a sleeping toddler in her arms while addressing a court is bad for her image, but she’s scared because she doesnt know how to do this.

So she takes him to the only place she can think of. To a man who has raised more boys than any other she knows. To somewhere safe where they can figure things out.

She tells Julian they’re going to go see Uncle Vesemir.


	7. The Healing Hands of Oxenfurt

Geralt needs a very particular set of hands on his naked body. Professional hands that can make him groan and purr in all the right ways.

Get your mind out of the gutter - he needs a masseuse not a talented whore.

A Witcher’s back is more scars and knots than back, but his most recent run-in with a werewolf had cut right through muscle that had healed wrong and now he could barely walk upright. Eskel couldn’t bare to see his brother like this, but they both knew no masseuse from Kaer Morhen to the Skelligs will touch a witcher like that.

But there is one… A man in Oxenfurt with hands like magic who helps any and all. Doppler pulled his back? No problem. Elf twisted his ankle? Sure. Dwarf with a torn hamstring? Come on in.

Geralt keeps his hood up and head down as he let’s the receptionist know he’s here. She smells of caution, but not fear. She tells him to go ahead Master Julian is waiting for him.

Julian is turned away from the door as Geralt enters the room, the air thick with soothing incense and calming oils. He tells him to strip down and get on the table belly first.

Geralt silently complies, his senses heightened as he follows he man’s presence in the room even as he closes his eyes.

Warm hands that smell of camomile smooth onto his back and pause. Geralt braces for the smell of fear but there’s none. Instead…

“Oh there’s enough scars here to feel like a roadmap of Novigrad! What you do big boy, dive into a pit of daggers?” He just clicks his tongue and Geralt feels oddly scolded. “You just tell me if any of them still hurts, ok? Meanwhile I’m going to war on these muscles because good Melitele’s tassled tits more knots in here than a tapestry!”

Geralt is silent for a moment as the man does just that while singing softly to himself. Soon enough he feels parts of his back warm and loosen he hasn’t felt in decades and the groans slip out without his consent.

Alternating between camomile oil, hot stones, and elderflower oil, the man truly seems to work magic. Magic that pulls more sounds from Geralt he never knew he could make.

He was so knocked out when the scent of nervousness and arousal hit him, and the heightened heartbeat of his saviour, it took him by surprise. Followed quickly by a clearing through and announcement that they are done for the day see you next week bye now, then the man left the room before Geralt could lift his head.

So it went for weeks. Each time Geralt felt more and more like a man of flesh and blood than steel and bone, feeling his body move in ways it had forgotten how.

Julian, or Jaskier as he prefers, was also growing on him. Took some time and patience but Geralt slowly started to respond to his questions and conversations and soon enough he looked forward to Jaskier’s company almost as much as his hands.

It was just odd how the man seemed to avoid him. He would be busy with the candles and heating up oil when Geralt enters and leave immediately at the end. Always ending just as the scent of arousal started to mingle with the incense in the room.

Maybe he had been fooling himself and Jaskier was as scared and disgusted by him as anyone else.

“All right then!” Julian announced. “All done. Should have some aches for a day or so, just apply some ice and you’ll be fine.”

“Ice?” Geralt scoffed a little as he sat up, keeping the towel over his crotch watching the man’s back as he purposefully busied himself at his work station. “One perk of looking like a freak is at least we heal fast. But thanks anyway.”

“Freak?” He asked sounding genuinely so confused. “Freakish amount of scars but nothing else about you is off-putting. Believe me.” The last bit was said soft enough human ears would’ve missed it.

“No need to play nice, Jaskier. I pay as everyone else does. I know what I am.”

“And what you are is hot as hell, a voice like black velvet and whiskey, a body carved by the gods, a mind sharp as a blade, and a heart secretly soft as a comely barmaid’s bosoms.”

Before Geralt felt his chest clench in warmth he shook it off. Now Jaskier was just being cruel. “Don’t. I dont need your empty words Jaskier. And you should know better than to try take a Witcher for a fool.”

Jaskier paused. “Witcher?”

Geralt snarled and stood, uncaring of the falling cloth. “Stop playing dumb, Jaskier it doesn’t suit you. And here I thought you were the one decent thing in this shithole city.”

They stood in silence for a moment, Geralt’s head down as Jaskier turned around.

“Look at me Geralt.”

And he did. His voice catching when he saw eyes blue as sea but pupils drowned in mist.

“I didn’t know you were a witcher. And it makes no difference to what I think of you.” Jaskier gave him a soft smile. “For you see Geralt.. I cannot.”

Jaskier was blind.


	8. On the mountain a bright, kindhearted bard named Julian died, and Jaskier was born.

Ciri had always known that a man by the name ‘Julian’ was someone very important to Geralt. He had spoken of him often and told her stories about their adventures together to make her laugh when she was scared. He let Eskel sing and play some of Julian’s songs to her because he said he didnt have a voice for singing but he wanted her to hear them.

But judging by the way he would silently stand and leave the room when songs mentioning the 'white wolf’ were played, she suspects there was something more to it.

She recalls years ago when she had just found Geralt that people would often ask him 'where is your bard?’. There was always a flash of pain on his features.

She knew over the years that Geralt had tried to search for Julian, but had given up as it seemed the bard had disappeared. Died most likely. And Geralt mourned.

One night when it was just the two of them around a campfire he quietly whispered that his greatest regret, in all his years, was letting Julian walk away.

He never mentioned him again.

Its years later and Ciri is traipsing across the continent when she stops dead in her tracks at a familiar tune playing in a tavern. A tune she hasn’t heard in 10 years.

The bard has the tavern in rapture with his voice and lute, even as he ends the song by saying they better tip double for making him sing 'that old rubbish’ they cheer and applaud. The man handsome, tall, with a mop of brown hair and eyes as blue as the sky that shine as he smiles. He clothes are colourful and ridiculous and he throws her a wink when he sees her staring.

He is exactly like Geralt described him.

“Julian?”

His smile falters and he seems on his guard. “You mistake me for someone else. I’m Jaskier”.

“Ah pity. I know a man who has spent years searching for Julian. He had thought the man died and it devastated him. But it seems maybe Julian didnt want to be found.”

Jaskier fidgets and looks away. “Why would he be looking this Julian?”

Ciri shrugs. “From the stories he told me, the songs he let me hear, and his saying that losing Julian was his greatest regret I’m thinking maybe he missed Julian. Maybe there were words left unsaid. ”

Jaskier’s hands tremble and he shoves them into his pockets. “I’m sure Julian would’ve like to hear that.”

Ciri gives him a small smile. “So Jaskier. Ever been to Kaer Morhen?”

Geralt sits in the courtyard sharpening his blades on the early winter cold. Ciri should’ve been here two days ago and he is getting nervous.

Its nearly nightfall when he hears Lambert’s call from the gates. He sighs in relief. Finally.

But when he reaches the gate two figures are dismounting. One with white hair and a grin that got her out of trouble too many times.

And one with blue eyes he had never thought he’d see again except for in his dreams.

“Julian…”


	9. Camboy Crush

“Dandelion” is a famous camboy and musician who always wears a mask and…very little else.

  * He takes requests on what to sing on which instrument, chats easily, flirts often, and for a few dollars he can be yours for a private stream.
  * No one knows where he came from or what his real identity is. Some speculate he is an FBI agent using this platform to spy on you through your webcam. Or that he is hideously ugly under the mask.
  * His first upload showed a beautifully lean man playing piano butt-naked in a mask with his deep smooth voice singing ‘Dancing on my Own’. It went viral.



Geralt is stuck in the lockdown and bored out of his mind when Yen sent him the link to Dandelion’s page with a winky emoji and an eggplant.

2 hours and 4 beers later and he is a VIP member.

Things happen. 2 months pass.

They’re dating but haven’t met and Geralt hasn’t seen his face, but Geralt cant deny his physical or emotional attraction to the man.

Dandelion sings about him on his streams. Only he knows it’s about him.

Lockdown is over and they finally meet. No mask.

It is Jaskier.

His best friend from high school and college who he had a fling with before he met Yen despite knowing the guy was deeply in love with him, only to break his heart into pieces in a fit of anger after Yennefer dumped him.

He hasn’t seen him 10 years. Hasn’t forgotten him, couldn’t, and often saw his crumbling, devastated expression at Geralt’s hurtful words before he turned and walked out of his life.

Jaskier never forgot him either. Or stopped loving him.


	10. The Cheeky Busker and the Broody Detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some dark themes and references to drug and prostitution (neither are involved in it!)

Geralt hated these missions. Clearing out these gang ‘dens’ and the buildings they owned was never a good experience. Drug addicts and scared sex workers were shuffled out to waiting ambulances, remaining gangsters and drug dealers are arrested or shot if they resist.

In the small dank apartments on the top levels in the decrepit building hides terrified families, former convicts, or run-aways who couldn’t afford anything better.

His partner Yennefer feels the same judging by her uncharacteristic silence. Over the radio Eskel and Lambert calls the bottom two levels clear. Geralt cant wait to get out of here. One more room. He knocks on the door but when there’s no answer he kicks it in with barely a warning.

The sight slams into him like a cold fist.

On the single mattress lays a familiar body with familiar brown hair. The apartment is ice cold and he can smell the fever and sweat on the man from here. In a corner stands a familiar guitar. A heavy layer of dust on it.

~

“Morning Geralt!” Jaskier grins brightly and winks as he does every morning. “Looking particularly handsome and broody today.”

Geralt rolls his eyes at the busker. “Isn’t it time you find a new corner?”

“And deny you the pleasure of my beautiful voice and delightful company every morning over your breakfast bagel and coffee? I would sooner cut off my fingers!”

Geralt cannot help the tug of his lips and watches as Jaskier’s face brightens like the sun in response. He knew nothing of the man except that he was a busker who stood on this corner between Geralt’s apartment and the police station every morning and sang songs of the heroic Detective Du Rivia! The Wolf among the Hounds.

“One of these days you’ll hear me on the radio and then you’ll be sorry for calling my voice a pie without filling!” He calls after Geralt with sunlight and laughter in his voice as he walked off to work.

But then Jaskier had caught him on a bad day…

One morning as he was walking home from a mission that ran through the night. Innocents died and Yen had taken a bullet to the arm. If he had just gotten there faster, if he had just not hesitated to take the shot-

Jaskier was just himself. Happy, joyful, overly-familiar Jaskier who tried to distract him when he saw his anger and then reached out to him in concern. Geralt had snapped. He didnt mean to, didnt mean what he said, but he was hurt and angry and frustrated and Jaskier was at the wrong place at the wrong time.

He will never forget the pain on the busker’s face or the way his eyes watered as he pulled away with a soft murmured apology and a promise he wont see him again.

That was 3 months ago. Every morning Geralt still had a spark of hope that he would hear the man’s voice ring out. Every morning he would feel the stab of guilt. The silence was his fault.

Geralt doesn’t hesitate to rush to Jaskier and gather him in his arms.

~

Severe pneumonia and bordering starvation, the doctor informed him, and that things weren’t looking good. There was also signs of an ankle injury that didnt heal well. As he was practically homeless it would stand to reason Jaskier didnt seek medical help he couldn’t afford.

Not being able to walk meant he couldn’t sing and play for money. No money meant no proper food or heating. And then Jaskier got sick…

If only Geralt had asked about him, maybe this would never have happened. If Geralt hadn’t pushed him away maybe Jaskier would’ve come to him if he needed help.

If only Geralt had told him that Jaskier was the reason he got up earlier every morning to see him. Some days he was he only reason Geralt got out of bed in the first place.

If only Geralt had told him he was the one good constant in his life of misery and chaos and violence. If only Geralt had gotten the courage to give him those daisies he bought.


	11. The Two Boys who got lost together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really love this one but I don't know what to do with it.

Geralt cannot remember much of his childhood before the trials and mutations stole most of his memories and humanity when he turned 16.

But he did remember a necklace. Silver. A pendent with a four leaf clover and rose petal in crystal. A vague memory of a woman’s hands putting it over his head before leaving him.

Over the years he had come to consider it nothing but a dream.

Years later he learns it wasn’t a dream.

The pendent hangs around the bard’s neck, securely resting on the exposed chest hair like it was a point of pride for the man. Above, wide impossibly blue eyes are staring openly but cautious as they approach. Geralt feels a faint familiarity but grunts dismissively at the man. The bard ignores him and takes the seat in front of him.

“Hello scary mister witcher,” he starts with a bit of a shaky nervous laugh. “Truly sorry to be a bother, but…” the bard leans forward a bit and looks into his eyes like he is searching for something. His gaze roams his face, hair, shoulders. “No…I must be mistaken. My apologies I thought you were someone else.”

He stands to leave but Geralt reaches out and grabs his wrist. Something about his voice… that shaky shy laugh, those blue eyes.. “who did you think I was?”

The bard slowly settles. “You see… years ago I met a boy. He was training to become a witcher and who had gotten lost while out tracking down another boy who had run away.” The bard reaches up to wrap his fingers around the pendant. “I had, coincidentally, also run away shortly before and he kindly let me stay with him for a while.”

A memory sparks for Geralt. Messy brown hair, red puffy eyes, and dirt on a face too pretty to be in the woods. A hand darting out to hold his in the dark, sweaty but firm.

“He gave this to me. Promised that one day he will be a mighty witcher, slaying monsters. And that he will come find me.”

The bard’s breath stutters and the scent of hope and longing lifts around him.

“And that we will get lost together. Forever.”


End file.
